


Summons

by turnyourankle



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU wherein MCR are the barbecue band on Warped tour; dreaming big for the future, and enjoy the warm summer nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovebashed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebashed/gifts).



> I promised [](http://lovebashed.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lovebashed.livejournal.com/)**lovebashed** that I'd write something for her if she posted an MCR fic meme, which she did, so I took some time from my v. v. busy schedule to jot this down :P It's from this ginormous 'verse that exists only in my head wherein MCR are the BBQ band on one summer's Warped tour. This chronicles one night of that summer.
> 
> Title from [Mary Karr's poem](http://community.livejournal.com/theysaid/1237356.html?style=mine) of the same name.  
> 

  
Mikey's frame is barely discernable in the darkness of the parking lot; his silhouette is haloed by dust and headlights from the van and the few band buses stalling, already behind schedule. Ray and Bob are three picnic tables over, armed with monster sized flashlights. Frank asks, "How are we on time?"

Mikey shrugs. "Couple of hours before we have to take off."

Frank drops a garbage bag full of used paper plates and cups to the ground, wiping off his hands on the back of his jeans. He tries to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stink of old food and vomit; he's nauseated enough from the (what feels like) permanent film of sweat over his skin and the humidity. He'd bummed a few cigs off some crew earlier, and he's got one between his teeth.

"Pigs, all of them." They've passed the halfway mark; Frank should be used to it by now.

"You too," Mikey says as he continues to swipe the remains of dried bread and crusty lettuce into a garbage bag of his own.

"Yeah, well, difference is I clean up my own fucking mess." Frank spits without thinking, and Mikey looks up as he ties his bag together. "That's not mess."

"Sure it isn't."

"S'not; s'bodily fluids. Big fucking difference."

"I'm sure hotel guests allover the world agree with you."

"Shut up. Pass me my lighter, will you?"

Mikey lights up Frank's cigarette without giving it to him. Frank asks, "Where's Gee?"

"He's on some recycling trip."

"Huh. Anything salvageable?" Frank nods at the leftovers still piled on the table.

Mikey shrugs, says, "There's like three ketchup bottles that aren't sullied. And I think one mustard."

"Only one?"

Mikey twists up his face, his glasses riding up the bridge of his nose. "There was a mustard chugging contest, apparently."

"Oh. That explains all the fucking puke." The circles of light from Bob and Ray's flashlights zigzag closer, and Frank has to squint as the light hits his eyes.

"Yeah."

"There's a veggie patty leftover if you want it," Mikey says, skewering it with one of the unused plastic knives left in a beer cup. The duct tape on it reads _CUTLERY_. Someone scribbled an N above the U and the T, and Frank cracks up when he notices. He can't wait to hear Gerard's rant when he sees it. Registering the joke takes way longer than it should; brain fried and hand heavy as he attempts to tidy up his hair. The grease and dust has caked itself around the tips and Frank's never been happier to not have a mirror around.

"Like a virgin, not even touched for the very first time." Mikey appears unscathed.

"'K. Well, wrap it up, might be good for a three AM snack," Frank says, and takes a long drag from his cigarette before backing away, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Are you gonna throw the bags?" Mikey asks, tying up the last one.

"Nah, gonna take a breather," Frank says.

"I really hope that's code for taking a piss," Mikey says, looking in the direction of the lights.

"No breathers," Ray says loudly, placing his flashlight on the table, as he continues swooshing his broom. It's dangerously close to Frank's new chucks.

"Here we go," Mikey says after letting out a grunt.

Ray doesn't look at Frank before continuing, "That's how it catches up with you. Gotta keep moving. Before you know it you're passed out and can't wake up for forty hours--no time for that! Moving is the key, left, right, left right."

"Walking," Frank adds, shuffling away. And bumping into Bob.

"Where you going?"

"Walking. You know, keeping the movement going." Frank pulls up his hoodie.

"I can see that assface. You're going in the opposite direction of the trash cans and you're not carrying any bags."

"Huh, would you look at that. Want a smoke?" Bob twitches; he wants the smoke, Frank can tell. "You know a little alone time never did anyone any harm."

"Jack off in your own time; you've already used up all your passes, Iero, don't fuck with me."

Frank cackles, puffs of smoke gathering around his face. He blows some in Bob's direction. "Whatcha gonna do? Peeing on my clothes'd probably hurt you more than me."

"How about pantsing you on stage."

Frank laughs, "Your powers are not that far-reaching yet. Unless you have a secret third arm I don't know about."

"Oh, you have no idea," Bob says, his broom is lifted in the air, sticky side in Frank's direction.

Frank flips him off as he backs away, and calls out, "Surprise me."

There's an abandoned car in one corner of the parking lot; one window's broken and all four wheels are knifed, shredded tires fanned around the hubcaps. They saw it when they got to the lot in the morning, barely inside the backstage perimeter. Frank wipes a spot on the hood with his arm, and climbs up. His back is against the illuminated parking lot, and he lets his foot tap against the broken bumper.

Frank tries to blow smoke rings in the dark. There is nothing to look at other than a neverending outline of the horizon, and pricks of light in the sky. The darkness is overwhelming; pressing down from above, and it almost looks like the stars are bearing down on him; speeding through space in his direction.

He hears Gerard dragging his feet along the asphalt before he hears his voice.

"Hey, Frank, whatcha doing?" The darkness stops moving, and Frank's vision straightens.

"Jacking off," Frank says, attempting to sound light, making a jerking motion with his hand.

Gerard snorts. "I'd see your white ass shining like a beacon if you were."

"You're the one who bathes in sunscreen." Frank adds, proffering Gerard his second cigarette.

"Yeah, well, that's cause I'm not a natural albino."

"Fuck you."

"Alright." Gerard flashes a grin before sucking on the cigarette before pressing it against the metal of the car. "Honestly though, whatcha doing? Looking for bodies? Or zombies?"

"Nah." Frank tilts his head up, chin against the sky. "Watchin' the stars."

"Huh. You know you don't have to use lines on me right?" Frank shrugs, and Gerard drapes his arm around Frank's shoulders. Frank lets his head drop back, pressing a dry kiss on Gerard's jaw line. "Alright, if you know so much about stars, where's the big dipper?"

Frank turns towards Gerard, his serious face on. "In my pants."

"Oh, really?" The edges of Gerard's mouth twist up in an involuntary smile, and Frank can't help but mash his own goofy smile against Gerard's. The smiles disappear when Gerard's tongue glides against Frank's, and he lets his eyes flutter shut, tongue pressing back. Gerard is salty and warm, familiar and not sharp at all; not speeding at him with edges and malice. He's just there, holding on.

Frank slips off the hood of the car, legs and arms hiked around Gerard's frame. He untangles himself with effort, tucking his head under Gerard's chin. Frank only needs to push Gerard twice to get him to lean back against the hood. Frank doesn't waste any time sticking his hands down Gerard's pants. Gerard squeaks, surprised, but doesn't object, letting Frank unzip his pants and tug them open.

Frank drops to his knees and tugs on Gerard's dick once, twice, three times before licking his lips and taking Gerard's dick in his mouth as far as he can.

"Oh, fuck." Gerard hisses at the contact and his hands pause on Frank's head, messing up his hair. Frank lets Gerard's dick slip out of his mouth and he can feel Gerard's thighs tense.

"Open your eyes, Gee, look up," Frank says, and Gerard's hands drop down to his shoulders, making fists of the fabric when Frank goes back to making patterns on his dick with his tongue.

"Oh fuck, Frank, I'm gonna--," Gerard doesn't finish his sentence, punctuates with a grunt, and Frank sucks harder, tongue running along the underside of his dick. His cold fingers wrap around the base, and Gerard shivers under his touch.

Gerard comes with a muted yelp. His grip around Frank's shoulders is so tight Frank can feel the stubs of Gerard's bitten fingernails digging into them. There's another, "Oh. _Oh_ ," when Gerard looks down at Frank still on the ground.

Frank spits out the come, only barely missing Gerard's shoes and wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he scrambles up. He's too quick, and his head is swimming.

Gerard's mouth is still open, and he pulls Frank closer, kissing him hard. Gerard lets out a pleased sound, tongue licking into Frank's mouth in no time. Frank rubs against him instinctively, still needing friction. Gerard pulls away with a jerk, says, "Ow, fuck." He zips his jeans shut, and drags them up under his shirt.

Frank laughs, "You know, not zipping up turns you into a flasher." Gerard fumbles with the hem of Frank's pants, pulling him close again.

"That makes you an accessory."

Frank rolls his eyes. A shiver works its way over his skin and his teeth shake. There are no more headlights gleaming in the distance, and wind has gone from chilly to cold. "C'mon, I bet Bob will bust a nut if we don't help 'em."

"But you haven't done any dipping yet!" Gerard tries to smirk, and ends up scrunching his nose instead.

Frank cackles. "You suck."

"Not yet." Gerard pecks him, and he lets his mouth linger. Frank lets the kiss deepen, absorbing Gerard's warmth. He looks concerned when Frank pulls away. He unbuttons his too big jacket, the one that makes him sweat during the day and that he uses as a blanket in the van; the one they all tease him about because it looks like a dog used it as a chewing toy. (More than one probably did.)

Frank says, "I've used up all my passes anyway." Gerard tugs him closer and tries to wrap his jacket around him as best as he can.

"I haven't," he says. "I've got two left. I can just give you one now."

"You were saving those." Gerard's wearing one of his old inherited t-shirts, it's so worn the fabric is thin and soft, and Frank nuzzles closer. It smells of old cologne and someone else's beer mixed with sweat. It smells like bad memories.

"Yeah, I was," Gerard says and his chin digs into Frank's forehead. Gerard shifts and sniffs audibly, Frank can tell he's probably looking up into the sky, still. "Hey, Frank?"

Frank lets out a muffled, "Yeah?"

"Think we'll ever be headlining?"

Frank snorts, poking his head out of the collar of Gerard's jacket. "Of course. how could we not with a mug like this on the roster?"

There's a loopy smile on Gerard's face and he nods. "Of course."

Frank buries his face in the crook of Gerard's neck again, and tries to seep up as much warmth from Gerard as he can. Gerard's chest heaves against his, hard bones digging in, and Frank holds on to Gerard's hips and all the softness in between.  



End file.
